


The Lifestone

by Eareniel



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Book cannon, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Post-BOFA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 11:02:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2770625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eareniel/pseuds/Eareniel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>A few years after the Battle, Balin comes for a visit.</em>
</p><p>A Coda to The Hobbit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lifestone

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally written for a book of short stories from the Hobbit fandom called MIZIMEL: The Hobbit Anthology Fanbook. Since the book came out over half a year ago, I have now decided to publish the story here as well, so more people can read it (and also because I just saw the last movie and need to cope with all the feelings).
> 
> The Lifestones are a thing that I made up, as I'm not aware of any cannonical mentions of them in any of Tolkien's works. I wanted to write a story that would chronicle Balin's visit to Bilbo at the end of the Hobbit book. I hope I have done it some justice.
> 
> Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me and I'm making no profit off them.

Autumns in the Shire have always been beautiful, Bilbo thought as he watched the sun set over the distant hills beyond The Water. The leaves were already coloured in hues of red, gold and yellow and there was a hint of crispness in the air, but it was not yet so cold that he couldn’t spend the evening sitting on his bench and enjoying the peace and quiet. 

It was good to be home.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, savouring the bitter taste of pipe-weed on his tongue before he let it out in a puff and watched the smoke-rings slowly drift over his garden. Bilbo waited until the last ray of sunlight disappeared behind the horizon before he finally stood up and made his way inside to cook himself dinner. Hamfast Gamgee had brought him a basket of very nice apples just that afternoon and he now eyed them with appreciation, thinking that an apple pie would be the perfect dessert for tomorrow’s tea. 

The potatoes had barely finished roasting when he heard a knock on his door – a very familiar tap that in three short raps somehow managed to convey the fact that the person behind the door didn’t like to be kept waiting. 

Bilbo opened the door to find two figures standing on his porch – one tall, one short, both equally bearded. 

“Gandalf,” he said with a smile, pulling the door open wider so that the light from the hall spilled out on the porch, “and Balin! Come on in! I was just planning to have some dinner. You are more than welcome to join me.”

The wizard stepped inside at once, taking care to stoop low to avoid hitting his head on the chandelier, but Balin lingered on the doorstep, watching Bilbo with fondness.

“It’s so good to see you, Balin,” Bilbo said finally and pulled the dwarf into a hug. 

“You have been greatly missed, Master Burglar,” Balin told him.

“Come now,” Bilbo said once he had hung Balin’s cloak on the hanger, “tell me about Erebor.”

The dinner passed by pleasantly, the conversation mostly focused on the goings-on in the far East and Bilbo was eager to hear about the rebuilding of Dale and Erebor. Balin and Gandalf took turns recounting the events of the past several years, painting a compelling picture of peace and prosperity before Bilbo’s eyes. They went to sleep early that night, still weary from their journey, and while Gandalf planned to leave the next day, Balin had promised to stay at Bag-End for a while and keep Bilbo company. 

“You haven’t married,” Balin remarked the next morning as he watched Bilbo pull a fresh plate of scones from the oven. 

“No,” Bilbo said softly, his eyes unwittingly straying towards the mithril mail displayed in his front hall.

Balin didn’t say anything to that, but when they sat down for breakfast, his eyes held far too much understanding. They both took care to keep the conversation light for the rest of the day, reminiscing about their journey while Bilbo showed the dwarf around Hobbiton. It wasn’t until the evening, when Bilbo brought out a bottle of last year’s finest wine out of his cellar, that they finally breached the heavier subjects. 

“Have you seen Dwalin lately, by any chance?” Balin asked. The question was posed lightly enough, but there was a strange undertone to it that Bilbo couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“No, I haven’t,” he replied. “You are the first dwarf to come visit me in five years. If anyone else has passed this way, they haven’t stopped by.” And that thought stung, more than he had expected.

“Oh,” Balin said, visibly disappointed. “I had thought that maybe he had gone with you.” He pulled his pipe out of his pocket, lit it and took a few puffs before he continued. “Dwalin left a few months after the battle. I do not know where he has gone or when I will see him again.” He sighed. “My brother has never been one to stay in one place for long, but with Erebor reclaimed, I had hoped that maybe he would finally settle down.”

“Maybe he’s gone back to the Blue Mountains,” Bilbo tried tentatively. 

“I hope so,” said Balin. “He is probably staying with Dís. Mahal knows she needs it, after everything that happened.”

They both fell silent, memories of the battle filling the room like ghosts. It was a good while before Balin spoke again.

“To be honest, I cannot blame him for leaving. I was a little disappointed at first that he didn’t even stay long enough to see Erebor rebuilt, but I can understand why he did it.” The dwarf looked down into his goblet with a sigh. “Dáin is a good king. He is wise and brave and rules with authority.” He paused for a moment before he finished his thought. “To be fair, he is probably a better king than Thorin would have been, but…”

“He’s not Thorin?” Bilbo guessed with a wry smile. Balin gave him a nod, draining his goblet in one go.

“Aye,” he said quietly when he was done. “He’s not Thorin.” 

They exchanged a look, their eyes silently conveying all the things that neither of them could bear to talk about out loud. Balin poured himself more wine from the bottle before he sat back again, looking unusually pensive. When he spoke again, his words came out slow and heavy.

“After everything we have done, all that we have been through to take back the mountain, it feels…wrong to see Dáin on the throne of Erebor. It should have been Thorin sitting there, not him.” Balin’s expression tightened and Bilbo looked away, staring into the fire to give the dwarf a moment to compose himself.

“What about the others?” Bilbo couldn’t help but ask. “What do they think about all this?”

“Dáin rewarded us all most generously.” Balin ran a hand over the heavy golden chain around his neck, drawing Bilbo’s gaze to the richness of his attire. “Most of the companions have settled down and seem to be happy enough in Erebor.” He took another drag from his pipe before he met Bilbo’s eyes again. “This is the first time that I have voiced my reservations out loud. I didn’t want to bother any of them with old dwarf’s problems, when they all looked so content.”

“You know I am always happy to hear you out,” Bilbo said. Balin gave him a small smile. 

“I know. You have always been a good friend to me.”

Bilbo poured them both more wine and used the lull in conversation to add a few more logs into the fire. 

“Is that why you left Erebor?” he asked once he was back in his favourite armchair. “To chase after Dwalin?”

Balin nodded.

“It was as good a reason as any and I have found that travelling is good for clearing one’s head.”

“So it is,” Bilbo said. “Are you planning to return to Erebor?”

“Yes, eventually. I’m hoping to spend some time in the Blue Mountains before I decide what to do next.”

Something in Balin’s tone told Bilbo that he already had some ideas. He gave the dwarf a look.

“Do you have anything specific in mind?”

Balin visibly hesitated before he answered.

“The old ancestral halls of Khazad-dûm have stood empty for a thousand years. No dwarf has set foot there since it fell. We have now managed to claim back the Lonely Mountain - maybe it is time to reclaim Moria as well.”

Bilbo couldn’t help but think that it was an extremely ill-advised idea.

“But what about the orcs?” he protested. “The mines must be crawling with them.” 

“Not necessarily,” Balin said. “Most of the orcs of the North died in the battle before the gates of Erebor. Those few that survived have fled and scattered all over the Wilderness. If there ever was a good time to strike against them, it is now.” 

Bilbo swallowed down the words of caution and worry that tried to make their way out of his throat. An expedition like that would be highly dangerous and likely to end in a disaster, but it was clear that Balin was aware of the risks and simply did not care. It gave Bilbo a pause – foolhardy plans like this had always been more Thorin’s doing, while Balin had been the careful one, cautioning others against rushing into danger. Thorin’s death must have hit him hard indeed, if it had made him this reckless. Bilbo could only hope that Dwalin would be able to talk him out of this. 

Instead of trying to dissuade him with empty words, Bilbo just sighed and reached for his pipe.

“Will I see you again before you leave?”

Balin gave him a grateful smile.

“Yes, most likely. An expedition like that will take years to organise, so I will have plenty of time to stop by for a visit.”

“I will be happy to see you.” Bilbo told him with a smile and he meant it. It was nice to have company. His days at Bag-End had been largely solitary since his return from his adventure and he welcomed the presence of a friendly soul in his home. He had never minded living alone before, but after having spent a year constantly surrounded by people, it had been hard to get used to solitude again. 

Even now, several years later, he could still vividly recall the feeling of crushing emptiness that had descended on him upon coming home. To find his dwelling so empty and quiet, when before it had been filled - if only briefly - with merriment and laughter, had been disheartening to say at least. He had moved on eventually, as hobbits are wont to do, settling back into his old habits, but even though he missed the Lonely Mountain horribly, he knew that he couldn’t bear to return there. His life in the Shire might be quieter than he would prefer, but it was comfortable. 

Still, he could easily get used to having a friendly face around, Bilbo mused absently a few days later as he peeled potatoes for lunch while Balin whittled something by the fire. He didn’t get many visitors these days, so the company was welcome. It was truly a shame that Balin was planning to leave so soon. 

Fortnight passed faster than Bilbo would have liked and the day of Balin’s departure approached. The afternoon light was shining warmly through the windows of Bilbo’s sitting room as Bilbo dusted, trying to put his plentiful books into some semblance of order. Over the years they had migrated from his study into every corner of his house, and he now sometimes had trouble finding the volumes he wanted. It was a quiet sort of work, not taxing in the slightest, and it left his mind free to occupy itself with more engaging activities - namely, the planning of Balin’s farewell feast. 

The dwarf in question had gone for a walk after lunch and Bilbo had used the opportunity to catch up on all the housework that he had been woefully neglecting in favour of entertaining his guest. He was just pondering what sort of roast he should make for dinner, when the front door opened and Balin walked in, looking a little cold but more at peace than Bilbo had seen him since his arrival. The dwarf gave Bilbo a nod of greeting and disappeared into the bedroom, only to emerge a moment later with a small package in his hands. He stopped in the doorway and cleared his throat, drawing Bilbo’s attention.

“I have something for you,” he said, offering the package to Bilbo. The hobbit put down his pile of books and crossed the room, peering at the object curiously. 

“What is it?”

“Something you should have received a long time ago,” Balin told him quietly, his usual cordial demeanour shifting into something more serious. The last time Bilbo had seen him look like that had been shortly after the battle, when they had sat together in silent vigil by Thorin’s bed, keeping the king company during his last hours of life. Suddenly Bilbo wasn’t so sure that he wanted to know the contents of the package.

“What is it, Balin?” he repeated, eyeing the gift with apprehension. Balin just gave him a small smile and pressed the package into his hands, leaving the hobbit to unwrap it on his own. Bilbo slowly peeled back the soft velvet fabric, only to gasp when the sunlight fell on a beautifully cut blue gem. It was large and oval shaped – almost as big as Bilbo’s fist - and the same shade of blue as Thorin’s eyes. Bilbo had seen his fair share of gems during his travels with the dwarfs, had even held the Arkenstone in his hands, but none of those jewels had come even close to this one in their beauty. 

Much like the Arkenstone, the gem seemed to shine with a soft inner light, but unlike the Heart of the Mountain, this one held no malice - only a vague need to be hidden away from the world and kept safe. The stone shone a little brighter when Bilbo ran a shaking finger over its surface, as if it welcomed his touch, and when he did it again an image of a familiar pair of blue eyes briefly flashed through Bilbo’s mind before the stone dimmed once more, returning to its dormant state. 

The hobbit spent a long moment just looking at the gem, admiring the way that the sun reflected on its exquisite cut before he finally raised his eyes to meet Balin’s, the question plain on his face. 

“It’s a Lifestone,” Balin said. “Thorin’s Lifestone. He wished for you to have it.”

“What’s a Lifestone?” Bilbo couldn’t help but ask. Dwarves kept many of their customs secret, so it was no wonder that he had never heard of this before. Balin took a few steps closer until he was standing next to Bilbo and gazed down at the gem with something close to reverence. 

“When a dwarf if born, his or her parents gift the infant with a precious stone. According to the ancient customs, it should be a gem that was mined on the same day that the child was born. No two dwarves ever have the same gem - each stone is unique, like its bearer. On the day Thorin was born, one of the miners found a blue diamond - the only one to ever be seen in Erebor. Thrór had taken it as a sign that his line was blessed, that Thorin was destined for great things.” He sighed, his eyes turning distant for a moment as he got lost in memories. 

“These jewels are our most prized possessions. We carry them from the day of our birth until our very last breath and when we die, they are either passed onto the family as an heirloom or buried with the dwarf. They are our best kept secret – nobody is allowed to see a Lifestone except for the dwarf’s closest family.”

Bilbo’s throat was suddenly tight as he looked at the stone at his hands. Thorin's. This jewel had been Thorin’s – Thorin had carried it, treasured it above all else. And now it lay in Bilbo’s hands. It took him several tries before he found his voice. 

“How come you are giving this stone to me?”

Balin gave him a look of deep sympathy.

“Because he would have given it to you himself, if he could,” Balin said, his voice growing gentle. “A dwarf cannot be forcibly parted from his Lifestone, but he or she can choose to give it away. Most dwarves hold onto these jewels their entire life, but there are some who decide to give their Lifestone to their chosen partner upon entering marriage. To do so is considered the highest sign of devotion among our kind.”

Bilbo closed his eyes, gripping the precious stone tighter in his hand as he felt hot tears well up behind his eyelids. Memories came to him unbidden, glimpses of times long gone – of stolen moments, furtive touches, promises whispered in the dark. Of times when Bilbo had still been bold enough to let himself dream of the possibilities that future held for them - of stone chambers filled with Fíli and Kíli’s laughter, a mountain restored to its full glory, and a bed for two. 

It might have been rather foolish and fanciful of him to dream like that when the dragon was still alive and the connection between them so new and unexplored, but Thorin had always had the power to make the impossible seem within reach, especially at those times when he had looked at Bilbo like the hobbit held the keys to all the secrets of the universe. Thorin had made it so easy to dream, and Bilbo had let himself get swept away by the visions of future that Thorin had painted for them. 

A future that will never be. 

They didn’t have enough time together, Bilbo thought with a sudden pang of resentment. He and Thorin should have had years, decades even to make good on those promises. He couldn’t help but think that it was horribly unfair that he should only get a glimpse of all that he could have, only to have it torn from him so soon. 

Now Thorin was gone, buried under the stone and all Bilbo had left of him were memories, an old map and one ridiculously large diamond. Bilbo opened his eyes and let the tears fall, making no effort to stop them. One of the drops slid down his cheek and dropped down onto the stone, shining in the sunlight. Bilbo let it sit there for a moment before he wiped it off, running his thumb over the fine cut to feel out the smooth planes of the gem. 

The tears stopped eventually and Bilbo wiped at his face with a handkerchief from his trouser pocket, not feeling the slightest bit embarrassed that Balin had witnessed his moment of weakness. They had grieved together before, supporting each other all through the funerals, so he wasn’t at all surprised when a hand landed on his shoulder, thumb drawing soothing circles over the fabric of his vest.

“You all right, laddie?”

Bilbo nodded, clearing his throat a few times before he trusted himself to speak.

“Thank you for bringing this to me, Balin. It means more than you will ever know.”

“I was glad to be of service,” Balin replied, squeezing gently once before he let go. “If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo said again, giving the dwarf a slightly watery smile. He gave the diamond one last look before he carefully rewrapped it in the velvety fabric, pressing it to his chest. “I think I will put this away and then see what can be done for dinner.”

Balin nodded and turned away, heading into the kitchen. He was almost out of sight when Bilbo remembered something that made him call out after the dwarf. 

“Wait!” 

Balin turned, looking expectant. 

“What about Fíli and Kíli’s stones?” It still hurt to say their names, to remember them, but he had to ask, knowing that he wouldn’t have peace until he knew. A shadow ran across Balin’s face, a phantom of old sorrow before his expression smoothed out again.

“I’m bringing those to their mother,” Balin said, pressing a hand over his chest. Now that Bilbo paid better attention, he could see the vague outline of something small and round stored in a pouch around the dwarf’s neck. 

“Oh.” Bilbo didn’t ask to see them, and Balin didn’t offer. 

Bilbo took Thorin’s gem to his study, where he carefully laid it into a small wooden chest on his windowsill. It had been a gift from the elves – a pretty little thing, inlaid with silver and gold that Bilbo had never found a good use for. Now it would safeguard Thorin’s most prized possession. He closed the lid with a soft click, running a hand over the smooth wood before he lifted it up and put it down on his desk. He knew that the grief would never fully go away, but at least now he would have something to remember Thorin by.

From that day on, Thorin’s Lifestone became a constant presence in his life - a silent companion, a reminder that he wasn’t alone, that there was still a world out there worth exploring. Little by little, the sorrow abated and Bilbo found that he could laugh again and enjoy life and sunlight.

He never showed the gem to anyone, not even Frodo and certainly not Gandalf, even though he suspected that the wizard knew about its existence. It became his secret, the one thing he wasn’t willing to share with the world, and when he was forced to part with his Ring the stone served as a consolation – a shield against the nightmares of darkness and greed that tried to creep into his mind and convince him that he needed to get the Ring back.

For more than seven decades the memory of Thorin stayed with him, offering silent comfort, and when Bilbo finally boarded the ship to the Undying Lands, Thorin sailed with him.

_The End_


End file.
